One for followers of Moor Mother, Julius Eastman or Robert Ashley, 'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is a surrealist song suite that spirals around Deal's powerful voice and their grand piano - captured in various churches and monasteries, no less. Poetic and uncommonly soulful, it's a layered fusion of gospel, blues, folk and avant theater.
The first sound we hear on 'When the Sun Dies', the album's opening track, is Deal's booming grand piano, that fills the crevices of the immense stone structure that surrounds them. The album was recorded in sacred spaces in rural France and Philadelphia, and grows from the seed of gospel music; Deal's powerful voice doesn't immediately fall into line with our expectations though, instead guiding us through a dark, uncanny sermon. They sing unaccompanied on 'And the Sea Dries' and the architecture of the building materializes as Deal quivers hypnotically. But their hand is revealed more fully on 'Horn of the Beetles', when an orchestra of brittle instruments - percussion, guitar, harmonica - and farm animals subvert the logic of their baroque piano flourishes.
'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is an album of contrasts, and Deal is careful to use their words, as well as their compositional and production choices, to help us grip their understanding of defiance in the face of oppressive forces. Their use of folk styles is particularly provocative; there's none of the chocolate box jangling you'd expect to hear on most contemporary revival records - Deal instead harnesses the texture of homespun musics, using the rattle and twang to offset their thick, syrupy voice. "Oh mother, oh mother, oh mother, my sea in land," they opine on 'Desert Blues', emphasizing the rhythm and cadence of their words. Tambourines jangle and fall off the grid as Deal mutates their voice, playing different characters that chatter to each other charismatically.
And on 'Metzu Zombie Dance', Deal spotlights the drums, playing skittering, jazz-inflected polyrhythms into the church's open, tall-roofed ambience. They sing the blues with a single stringed accompaniment on the bleak 'At Sight of First Kiss', and muddle plasticky, artificial sounds with acoustic wails on 'The Symphony of The Black Sun Rises', building into an oceanic Scott Walker-like crescendo. It's a bold, ambitious record that feels as if it exists on its own timeline; there's no lavish processes or Netflix-style sound design, and Deal still sounds as if they're gesturing towards the future.
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One for followers of Moor Mother, Julius Eastman or Robert Ashley, 'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is a surrealist song suite that spirals around Deal's powerful voice and their grand piano - captured in various churches and monasteries, no less. Poetic and uncommonly soulful, it's a layered fusion of gospel, blues, folk and avant theater.
The first sound we hear on 'When the Sun Dies', the album's opening track, is Deal's booming grand piano, that fills the crevices of the immense stone structure that surrounds them. The album was recorded in sacred spaces in rural France and Philadelphia, and grows from the seed of gospel music; Deal's powerful voice doesn't immediately fall into line with our expectations though, instead guiding us through a dark, uncanny sermon. They sing unaccompanied on 'And the Sea Dries' and the architecture of the building materializes as Deal quivers hypnotically. But their hand is revealed more fully on 'Horn of the Beetles', when an orchestra of brittle instruments - percussion, guitar, harmonica - and farm animals subvert the logic of their baroque piano flourishes.
'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is an album of contrasts, and Deal is careful to use their words, as well as their compositional and production choices, to help us grip their understanding of defiance in the face of oppressive forces. Their use of folk styles is particularly provocative; there's none of the chocolate box jangling you'd expect to hear on most contemporary revival records - Deal instead harnesses the texture of homespun musics, using the rattle and twang to offset their thick, syrupy voice. "Oh mother, oh mother, oh mother, my sea in land," they opine on 'Desert Blues', emphasizing the rhythm and cadence of their words. Tambourines jangle and fall off the grid as Deal mutates their voice, playing different characters that chatter to each other charismatically.
And on 'Metzu Zombie Dance', Deal spotlights the drums, playing skittering, jazz-inflected polyrhythms into the church's open, tall-roofed ambience. They sing the blues with a single stringed accompaniment on the bleak 'At Sight of First Kiss', and muddle plasticky, artificial sounds with acoustic wails on 'The Symphony of The Black Sun Rises', building into an oceanic Scott Walker-like crescendo. It's a bold, ambitious record that feels as if it exists on its own timeline; there's no lavish processes or Netflix-style sound design, and Deal still sounds as if they're gesturing towards the future.
One for followers of Moor Mother, Julius Eastman or Robert Ashley, 'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is a surrealist song suite that spirals around Deal's powerful voice and their grand piano - captured in various churches and monasteries, no less. Poetic and uncommonly soulful, it's a layered fusion of gospel, blues, folk and avant theater.
The first sound we hear on 'When the Sun Dies', the album's opening track, is Deal's booming grand piano, that fills the crevices of the immense stone structure that surrounds them. The album was recorded in sacred spaces in rural France and Philadelphia, and grows from the seed of gospel music; Deal's powerful voice doesn't immediately fall into line with our expectations though, instead guiding us through a dark, uncanny sermon. They sing unaccompanied on 'And the Sea Dries' and the architecture of the building materializes as Deal quivers hypnotically. But their hand is revealed more fully on 'Horn of the Beetles', when an orchestra of brittle instruments - percussion, guitar, harmonica - and farm animals subvert the logic of their baroque piano flourishes.
'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is an album of contrasts, and Deal is careful to use their words, as well as their compositional and production choices, to help us grip their understanding of defiance in the face of oppressive forces. Their use of folk styles is particularly provocative; there's none of the chocolate box jangling you'd expect to hear on most contemporary revival records - Deal instead harnesses the texture of homespun musics, using the rattle and twang to offset their thick, syrupy voice. "Oh mother, oh mother, oh mother, my sea in land," they opine on 'Desert Blues', emphasizing the rhythm and cadence of their words. Tambourines jangle and fall off the grid as Deal mutates their voice, playing different characters that chatter to each other charismatically.
And on 'Metzu Zombie Dance', Deal spotlights the drums, playing skittering, jazz-inflected polyrhythms into the church's open, tall-roofed ambience. They sing the blues with a single stringed accompaniment on the bleak 'At Sight of First Kiss', and muddle plasticky, artificial sounds with acoustic wails on 'The Symphony of The Black Sun Rises', building into an oceanic Scott Walker-like crescendo. It's a bold, ambitious record that feels as if it exists on its own timeline; there's no lavish processes or Netflix-style sound design, and Deal still sounds as if they're gesturing towards the future.
One for followers of Moor Mother, Julius Eastman or Robert Ashley, 'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is a surrealist song suite that spirals around Deal's powerful voice and their grand piano - captured in various churches and monasteries, no less. Poetic and uncommonly soulful, it's a layered fusion of gospel, blues, folk and avant theater.
The first sound we hear on 'When the Sun Dies', the album's opening track, is Deal's booming grand piano, that fills the crevices of the immense stone structure that surrounds them. The album was recorded in sacred spaces in rural France and Philadelphia, and grows from the seed of gospel music; Deal's powerful voice doesn't immediately fall into line with our expectations though, instead guiding us through a dark, uncanny sermon. They sing unaccompanied on 'And the Sea Dries' and the architecture of the building materializes as Deal quivers hypnotically. But their hand is revealed more fully on 'Horn of the Beetles', when an orchestra of brittle instruments - percussion, guitar, harmonica - and farm animals subvert the logic of their baroque piano flourishes.
'Seas of Triple Consciousness' is an album of contrasts, and Deal is careful to use their words, as well as their compositional and production choices, to help us grip their understanding of defiance in the face of oppressive forces. Their use of folk styles is particularly provocative; there's none of the chocolate box jangling you'd expect to hear on most contemporary revival records - Deal instead harnesses the texture of homespun musics, using the rattle and twang to offset their thick, syrupy voice. "Oh mother, oh mother, oh mother, my sea in land," they opine on 'Desert Blues', emphasizing the rhythm and cadence of their words. Tambourines jangle and fall off the grid as Deal mutates their voice, playing different characters that chatter to each other charismatically.
And on 'Metzu Zombie Dance', Deal spotlights the drums, playing skittering, jazz-inflected polyrhythms into the church's open, tall-roofed ambience. They sing the blues with a single stringed accompaniment on the bleak 'At Sight of First Kiss', and muddle plasticky, artificial sounds with acoustic wails on 'The Symphony of The Black Sun Rises', building into an oceanic Scott Walker-like crescendo. It's a bold, ambitious record that feels as if it exists on its own timeline; there's no lavish processes or Netflix-style sound design, and Deal still sounds as if they're gesturing towards the future.